


A Matter of Betrayal

by QueenCoeurl



Series: Royalty AU [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dark God Ryan, Gen, God Complex, Mad King Ryan, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCoeurl/pseuds/QueenCoeurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan continues to boast the title of Dark God, and looks for more ways to draw Gavin and Geoff out of hiding. Meg has a bad time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Betrayal

  Meg held her dress above her ankles as she followed the member of the royal guard that had come to fetch her. He was making great time and she had to hurry her pace to remain next to him.

 

  She couldn’t blame him; if the Mad King wanted someone summoned it had better be done hastily and without delay.

 

  The guard's heavy armour clinked and clattered as they mounted the first flight of stairs up to the King’s Study.

 

  It was a path Meg knew well. She had travelled it many times, but of course, then there had been another king waiting for her at the end. A kinder, more jovial king.

 

  She didn’t know what this king wanted to speak to her in private for, and it had her stomach tying itself in fearful knots. Hoping it was for nothing more than to check on his sword, she felt grossly unarmed. All she had was her magic and a dagger strapped tightly to her thigh.

 

  A woman had to be cautious.

 

  Not that a dagger would do much against _this_ particular king.

 

  They reached the uppermost landing and the guard needlessly guided her down the hall to the iron bolstered door of the King’s Study. The study was the only room on the top floor of the western tower, but manners were manners.

 

  “Thank you.” She nodded to the guard, and he pushed open the heavy door.

 

  In Gavin’s time, the study had been a mess of paintings and tapestries, often lively with members of his court and council.

 

  The only similarity now was the mess. Books, maps, diagrams, and tools of all kinds covered every surface. The curtains were open, as were the windows, letting in the mid summer sunlight and breeze. The King sat at his main desk facing the door. He wore a simple white cotton shirt that was partly undone, and his cheeks were flushed by the heat.

 

  Meg hid a smirk; what kind of god sweat?

 

  Meg noticed that his sword lay across the room on top of a map of the Western Isles. Those were Gavin’s homeland, and she fondly remembered how he had promised to take her sailing between the treacherous cliffs one day.

 

  _There’s so many bloody islands,_ he'd said, _No one knows just what’s out there. We could claim one for our own, make our own kingdom. Free from treachery and false friends. Grow old and fat and happy._

“Sit down, Lady Turney.” Ryan finally looked up from a letter he was writing to fix her with his black and silver gaze.

 

  Meg had trouble not looking at the large curving horns that sprouted from the King's head. She curtsied before seating herself, “What is it, Your Majesty?” He was no god as he claimed, but he wasn’t human either.

 

  Ryan put his quill away and moved the still wet letter aside. He intertwined his fingers and rested them on his desk. His black and taloned right hand created a piano key pattern with his uninjured left.

 

   He looked Meg over, and she shuddered under his unnatural gaze.

 

  “It has been almost five months since I disposed of Gavin.” Ryan paused to gauge her reaction, “It is clear he has no heir.”

 

  Meg shifted uncomfortably. Of course that had been a concern of the King's; he had been waiting to see the truth.

 

  “Your Majesty, if you would have asked, I would have told you as much.” Meg replied, but knew that Ryan would have never believed her answer.

 

  “Why do you remain? In the castle? I could have easily decided to adorn the gates with your head. Your relationship with Gavin is well known. You are a bright woman, but I never took you for the type to gamble with your life.” Ryan appeared genuinely interested.

 

  Meg looked down at her hands so her eyes would not betray her, “I knew it would be dangerous; Gavin told me many tales of your previous rule... But I had grown accustomed to a certain way of life, and would not lose it upon Gavin’s death.” She much rather he suspect her of selfishness than planning revenge.

 

  If he ever found out that she had tried to kill him twice, it was going to be the end of her, or worse.

 

  Ryan’s face remained impassive, but he was amused by how she believed Gavin dead. Let it remain that way. If she ever learned that Gavin still lived, he'd have to put her in chains. She was his most valuable weapon against him, and he would not let her out of his grasp.

 

  “So you admit to only acting in your best interest?” Asked Ryan.

 

  Meg went cold, “No, Your Majesty. I only mean to say that it was the most logical course of action. My loyalty is to King and kingdom above all else.”

 

  “Doubtful.” Ryan leaned back in his seat.

 

  “I– I– Pardon, Your Majesty?” her stomach filled with ice.

 

  “I find it doubtful that your loyalty to me is greater than the one you give yourself.” Ryan waved his clawed hand dismissively, “Know this: you can remain a free woman and continue to serve on my council, but only on the condition that you do not leave the city again. Understood?”

 

  Meg gave a quick nod. What had she done to have him instate such a rule?

 

  “Have I done something to your displeasure, Your Majesty?” She hid her worry and fear as best she could. To appear guilty would spell her death.

 

  Ryan inhaled the thick miasma of fear that had begun to spill from the woman; it was a scent he was learning to enjoy, “No, not at all. I just worry; not only were you a partner to Gavin, but now you serve as a member of my council. I have many enemies Lady Turney, and it would be best they not have the opportunity to reach you.”

 

  “Of course, Your Majesty. I am humbled by your concern.” Meg bowed her head. What was the Mad King playing at?

 

  “You are dismissed.” Ryan told her and gestured to the door.

 

  Meg quickly stood and curtsied, “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She turned on her heel and went to pull open the large door.

 

  “I can see what Gavin saw in you.” The King remarked.

 

  _If you so much as try and touch me, I will tear off your regal cock!_ “I’m honoured, Your Majesty.” Meg replied without turning around and left his study.

 

  Once she stepped onto the stairs she shuddered violently and made a gagging noise.

 

  She missed Gavin.

 

  But she owed him this much at least; she would do as ordered and play the role of obedient council until the day came when the King finally let his guard lower around her.

 

  He may not be the type to ever fully trust her, no, but all she required was for him to become comfortable around her. Then she would slit his throat and laugh as she watched him bleed.

 

  The very thought of seeing him look up at her as he fell to his knees drowning in his own blood – it brought a smile to her lips.

 

~*~

 

  Gavin wiped the sweat from his brow before it could drip into his eyes. With a huff he tossed aside his axe and looked at the pile of wood he still had to split.

 

  He threw his head back with a loud groan.

 

  Geoff overheard him, “So what I’m hearing is that you would rather have disembowelment duty!” he shouted from between the trees on the far side of the small stone shack they were calling home.

 

  The shack was ancient and long forgotten. Completely overgrown by the surrounding forest, it hadn’t even had a roof when Geoff had first brought them here.

 

  Its shelter had been meagre, but it had been enough for Gavin to survive the spring in these woods with Geoff.

 

  Now it was the middle of summer. Time was difficult to track, but Gavin figured it must have been a few months now since he almost froze to death dragging Geoff across the countryside in order to escape Ryan.

 

  In that time the shack had turned into a home. It had a newly built (if somewhat leaky) roof and a hard packed dirt floor, but it was safe.

 

  And that was all that mattered.

 

  Gavin gagged and took off his shirt. Even in the near sunless shade of the deep woods it was still too hot for this type of labour.

 

  “Didn’t think so!” Geoff replied to Gavin’s silence.

 

  Gavin shook his head with a huff; this would all be so much easier if Geoff just used his magic. It was something they had argued about since getting here.

 

  But no, The First was too _scared_ to use his magic unless absolutely necessary. For whatever reason he seemed convinced that it would only lead the Mad King to their hiding place.

 

  Gavin snorted.

 

  _As if he’s some bloody damned magic bloodhound._ He found the concept ridiculous and didn’t know why Geoff had so fallen for it.

 

  This was what Ryan wanted, wasn’t it? Them afraid, alone, and suffering.

 

  Couldn’t Geoff see he was acting just how the Mad King was hoping them to? To disappear and never challenge him again?

 

  What was the plan here? To wait until the current king succumbed to age?!

 

  It all made Gavin angry, and he picked up the axe once more.

 

  The wood was easier to split when he imagined it wearing the mad man's smirk.

 

  Geoff broke the rhythmic crack-thunk of splitting wood with a wail of despair and a chain of curses, “I’ve done it _again!”_ he whined.

 

  Gavin didn’t have to think hard to guess what had happened, “You broke your damn knife again, haven’t you?” The First's strength was a boon in battle, but bane most everywhere else.

 

  “I may have...”

 

  Gavin put the head of his axe down and broke into snickering laughter.

 

  “It’s still enough of a blade to skin you!” Geoff angrily threatened. He came around the side of the shack to where Gavin was. His hands were bloody and the broken knife was still in his hand.

 

  “You could repair it easily, or even prepare a grand feast if–” Gavin was cut off by Geoff who knew exactly what he was going to suggest.

 

  “No magic!” Geoff scolded him, “How many times must I make that clear?!”

 

  “And just what do you believe him capable of?!” Gavin shouted, “You are The First! Immortal and kingdom builder! Why do you fear him so?!”

 

  “It is you who should fear him! I do not fear for myself, but I fear dearly for you...” Geoff admitted, “He will have fates worse than death in mind for you.”

 

  “And I fear for Meg!” Gavin balled up his fists, “Our relationship was well known; he will not be blind to it!”

 

  Geoff creased his brow; he knew that Ryan would go after Meg if he hadn’t already, “She is a smart and resourceful woman. I am sure she has long left the city and is living much as we are.”

 

  “But she doesn’t have you to protect her, does she?! He will find her! And then,” Gavin swallowed around the lump growing in his throat, “And then he will do to her what only a depraved mad man could fathom!”

 

  Geoff put his hands on Gavin’s bare shoulders, “Gavin,”

 

   “What if she bears my heir?!” Gavin’s eyes were wide, “What if he– What if he forces her to bear HIS heir?!”

 

  “Gavin!” Geoff shook him, “This is not the time nor place to think on such things!”

 

  “Then when is?!” Gavin yelled at him, “What grand plan could you possibly have that requires us to cower?!”

 

  Geoff released Gavin and frowned, “This is not cowering; it is survival! He will tear out your heart and wear it around his neck! Your anger alone shall not defeat him! You will only be his plaything until he bores of you or breaks you!

  This is a battle only I am suited to fight, and Ryan knows it. He will use everyone he can to draw me out.

  He wants this fight; don’t you understand?”

 

  Gavin looked at him but remained quiet.

 

  “I will not give him what he wants!” Geoff added with finality to ensure it was clear.

 

  Gavin turned away, unable to meet Geoff’s eyes, “You’re a damn coward, is what you are.”

 

  Geoff grabbed Gavin tightly by the arm and spun him around to face him, “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just dare to call me a coward?!”

 

  Gavin steeled himself and threw off Geoff’s grip, “I did.”

 

  “Then I’ll accept your apology on the account of your fear making you foolish.” Geoff gritted his teeth.

 

  Gavin stared him in the eye, but finally looked away, “You should have no reason to fear a mortal man.”

 

  “Do not mistake caution for fear.” Geoff let his jaw muscles relax.

 

  A silence passed between them.

 

  Geoff exhaled and kindness returned to his features, “We will require a new knife.” He returned to their original topic, “Are you willing to venture out again?”

 

  “If you keep breaking all our tools, we’ll run out of coin. Could you not spare the risk and repair it? Or to enchant the next knife?” Gavin replied.

 

  “We need a new bucket as well, and it was you who broke our last saw. May as well get them all at once.” Geoff told him.

 

  Gavin grumbled but went back over to where he had placed his shirt. He pulled it over his head, “One of these days you’ll send me to a village or town where they’ll recognise their past king. Then what shall we do?”

 

  “Recognise you how? By your nose?” Geoff laughed, “We are nowhere near the capital or your native lands; you are a stranger here.” He fished out the small and quickly shrinking coin purse, “And that is also why I avoid sending you to the same village too often. You cannot become familiar.”

 

  “I'd argue you’re more a stranger than me.”

 

  “Gavin, we’ve discussed this!” Geoff dropped his hands down to his sides, “I have been around far too long; there are murals and carvings – whole statues even – with my face!”

 

  “I have paintings and murals too.” Gavin argued.

 

  “But nowhere near as widespread. Do not forget that some still consider me a deity.” Geoff ended his protest.

 

  “Fine, let me grab a cleaner shirt and then you may send me off.” He didn’t enjoy teleportation, but should he ever be recognised it would be better if it were in a town far from here.

 

~*~

 

  Meg leaned on the bannister of the balcony and watched the guards training below with idle eyes.

 

  The First had to yet still respond to their efforts in contacting him. It was getting frustrating; it felt as if they were screaming into a void.

 

  She propped her chin up with the palm of her hand.

 

  What worried her most was how the King seemed to be circling her. Ever since she had met with him in his study regarding why she remained in the city, he had taken an interest in her.

 

  When he had first called her up to his chambers one afternoon, she had been filled with dread and ready to spill his blood.

 

  What she hadn’t expected was for him to be seated at a small table on his balcony. On the table had been a game board, one Meg instantly recognised from her youth in the Southwest.

 

  He had beckoned for her to be seated. Confusion had her hesitate and the King noticed the reluctance.

 

  _I had some spare time this day, and decided it would be best to pass it with a simple game. You do know the rules, yes?_

 

  Meg had nodded and sat down across from him. It was a simple game played with stones painted white on one side and black on the reverse. The players would take turns placing stones with the goal of filling the board with their chosen colour. However, if the opponent surrounded your stone with stones of their colour, your stone became theirs.

 

  They had played in silence. It was the king who won the first game, and he had sent her away afterwards.

 

  It had been an unusual encounter.

 

  Until three days later when he summoned her to his chambers again.

 

  Once more he sat at the small game table and gestured for her to sit and play.

 

  That game she won.

 

  From there the pattern continued. Every few days he would call her to his chambers during the afternoon or evening, and they would play a game.

 

  She won some, and she lost others; and the King asked her over to play more often.

 

  One day he decided to switch the game. She had come to his chamber to find cards on the table before him.

 

  The card game took longer to play, and the King took advantage of this by attempting to start conversation. He would ask her questions, and Meg would give him simple, but polite, answers.

 

  She would not carry a dialogue with him. She refused to.

 

  He began to call her to him in the evenings and changed the card game to another far more complicated one.

 

  This game Meg had not known how to play, but she did recognise it as one she had seen some guards play in their off hours.

 

  It was heavily based on strategy and as the King taught her, she had no choice but to ask questions.

 

  With this new game, evenings turned to night, and she was leaving his chambers beneath the burning stars.

 

  Still watching the guards train below, she scratched her nose.

 

  What greater game was the King playing? Why had he chosen her as his game piece?

 

  Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

 

  She looked to the sky and saw it was almost time for the King to hold his weekly audience.

 

  With a yawn she stretched and began to make her way down to the throne room. All members of the King's court were expected to attend should their knowledge or skills be called upon to resolve a dispute.

 

  The King always enjoyed holding audience. To him it was sport, and sure enough, by the time Meg arrived in the throne room, he was already there.

 

  “Lady Turney,” He greeted, “I see you are eager.”

 

  Meg curtsied, “I was nearby.” She answered.

 

  Ryan was in full show regalia as tradition demanded. He wore his royal colours of red and gold with white fur trim along the edge of his long red cape that trailed behind him. His golden buttons were polished and intricate embroidery in gold thread danced across his cuffs and collar. His crimson kilt was present, and around his waist was strapped his sword and a dagger.

 

  Meg had gotten used to seeing him in simple casual clothing and it was almost jarring each time he dressed up as a proper king.

 

  Kdin walked into the throne room with an uncovered yawn. He was doing little but eating and sleeping these days, and although it was an ideal life, it had quickly grown dull.

 

  He saw Meg and nodded to her before turning and greeting the King, “King Ryan, any idea what we have in store for us today?” he was quickly growing proficient in the common tongue.

 

  “I’m sure it will be the usual fare.” Jack walked in wearing full armour minus a helm.

 

  “Captain,” Ryan greeted him, “How has life been faring?” He didn’t see too much of Jack anymore, and although Jack made the excuse of being busy, Ryan had his suspicions that he was simply avoiding him.

 

  “Busy and well, Your Majesty.” Jack responded with a bow.

 

  “No fruit in your search for The First?” Kdin smirked.

 

  Jack looked at him angrily but spoke calmly, “The King would be the first to know should I find any sign of him.”

 

  Kdin's smile didn’t fade as he went to stand to the left of the throne.

 

  The throne room was quickly filling with the court and those interested in the coming proceedings. Ryan had opened his audience to any member of the public, yet they never had to worry about overcrowding.

 

  The proceedings could become quite gruesome at the drop of a hat, and that deterred most.

 

  Ryan took to the throne and seated himself. Once comfortable he gestured for Jack to begin.

 

  Jack cleared his throat and stepped forward before the throne. He bowed low to Ryan and then turned to face the room, “The King has decided to hold audience.” He announced, “Open the doors!” He stomped his armoured foot down on the polished marble. He left the centre of the room and went to stand on Ryan’s right.

 

  The royal guards pulled the throne room doors open fully. Outside in the hall was a small crowd made up of citizens from every wake of life and from every corner of the kingdom. They remained civil and quiet as the Crier walked out from their midst.

 

  The Crier unrolled a scroll, “Your Majesty!” he declared loudly and bowed low. Straightening he continued, “Marshal Warren seeks your ruling; concerning livestock.”

 

  Ryan gave a shallow nod to proceed.

 

  A middle-aged man hurried forward. He removed his wide brimmed hat and bowed.

 

  “Rise.” Ryan ordered him when the man remained in his bow.

 

  Marshal rose and swallowed while fingering his hat nervously. The King’s inhuman gaze had him feeling naked and small.

 

  Ryan sighed, “You may speak.” He urged the man.

 

  “Two dozen chickens!” Marshal blurted, “Wolves have decimated my stock.” He swallowed and wet his lips, “Your Majesty, you have ruled that no wolf be harmed, so I ask; what recourse do I have? My hens are my livelihood, my family cannot bear this loss, and to lose more will have us lose our homestead.”

 

  Ryan thought it over. His wolves were getting too bold; this was just another in a long list of incidents. He would have to amend his terms with them.

 

  “Pay the man twenty silver for each chicken lost.” He told the Crier who quickly wrote it down, “The wolves shall not bother you any longer, and if they do, you have permit to defend your livestock as necessary.”

 

  Marshal dropped to his knees and thanked the King profusely. Twenty silver per chicken was a small fortune when a prized egg-laying hen could sell for five or so silver at most.

 

  Marshal was ushered out, and The Crier returned to the floor.

 

    “Acolyte Peters and Brother Nami seek your wisdom; concerning vandals.” The Crier moved aside to let the two come forward.

 

  With brown hair tied back in a braid, Acolyte Peters was a young woman dressed in the black robes and light leather armour that designated her as a disciple of the Dark God.

 

  Brother Nami was a dark skinned white haired man. He wore the cream coloured robes of the Notched Church. A ceremonial pickaxe was slung through his large leather belt.

 

  Both of them bowed before the King, but Acolyte Peters did so with extra flourish before rising.

 

  “Unusual to see two members of your orders side by side.” Ryan commented with a raised eyebrow, “What brings you here before me?”

 

  Acolyte Peters looked to Brother Nami who gestured for her to speak.

 

  Acolyte Peters nodded and bowed once more before speaking to the King, “Your Majesty, the temple has not yet finished building its walls and already we are finding that vandals are painting and carving their marks onto it.”

 

  “And our shines and churches are experiencing the same, Your Majesty.” Brother Nami continued, “At first we wrongly assumed it was the Dark Order, but upon meeting with them we found that they were victims as well.”

 

  “And we assumed that it was work of the Notched Church, but it appears that there is a third party at fault. A party that may wish to illicit further tensions between our two groups.” Acolyte Peters theorised.

 

  Ryan looked to Jack, “Have these incidents been reported, Captain?”

 

  “Indeed they have, Your Majesty, and in response the frequency of patrol for the city guard in those areas was increased.” Jack answered him.

 

  Ryan looked back to the two, “And these violations of sacred space have continued since the increased patrols?”

 

  “Unfortunately so, Your Majesty.” Acolyte Peters responded.

 

  Ryan tapped his clawed fingertips on the gold arm of the throne. After a few seconds he spoke, “Captain, cancel the additional patrols. I want a dedicated guard for each shrine, temple, and church.

  As well, I will give a reward of fifty gold to anyone who captures the vandals alive and unharmed. I will pass their judgement.”

 

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Jack confirmed he understood.

 

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” The two thanked him almost in unison, and left. Brother Nami left the throne room, while Acolyte Peters went and joined the audience where a few more members of her order were standing.

 

  The Crier returned, “Franklin Adams and Darren Minchel; they seek resolution in a dispute over land and cattle.”

 

  The two farmers approached. They kept a wary distance from each other and bowed.

 

  Franklin was the older of the two with a deeply creased face and grey hair. Darren wasn’t much younger, but even so the wear of time on his face was far less.

 

  Both were dressed in simple cotton and wool garments, and it was clear that they worked the land for a living.

 

  “Your Majesty, this man has stolen–” Darren was cut off.

 

  “I have stolen nothing!” Franklin declared, “They were on my land, again! After how many warnings?!

  Your Majesty, I had pleaded with him on multiple occasions that he fix his fence. His cattle were eating all my crops; they were on my land more often than they were on his.”

 

  “You had no right to rebrand them as your own!” Darren shouted.

 

  “Well my crops were the ones feeding them, and my land housing them, so my cattle they became!” Franklin shouted back.

 

  “That does not make them yours!” Darren shouted and lunged at Franklin.

 

  Guards rushed forward to pull the two old men apart before they killed each other.

 

  With a guard on each arm, they were forced apart and thrown to their knees facing the King.

 

  “Are you two finished?” Ryan said with an air of boredom. He leaned back on the throne.

 

  “Those cattle are not his! He grows carrots and cabbage,” Darren argued.

 

  “And potatoes, Your Majesty.” Franklin interjected.

 

  “He cannot care for them anyway!” Darren shot daggers at Franklin.

 

  Ryan looked to Franklin, “Allow– Darren was it?” a nod, “Allow Darren to reclaim his cattle. In return, he shall repair his fence within a fortnight, and pay you market value for the crops damaged.”

 

  “Market value?! Your Majesty, there was no guarantee that any of those plants would have grown to be sold! At least they found use with my cattle!” Darren protested.

 

  “If you cannot pay in coin, then you may give him a cow.” Ryan told him, “He can then sell or keep it.”

 

  “And give the thief what he wants?!” Darren tried to stand but his guards forced him back down onto his knees.

 

  “I am no thief!” Franklin retorted.

 

  “Says the man who rebranded another’s cattle!” Darren screamed.

 

  “My ruling stands.” Ryan raised his voice to quiet them.

 

  “Choke on a cock!” Darren cursed reflexively in his anger.

 

  The room went dead silent and all eyes were on the King as he straightened on the throne.

 

  Darren dropped to his hands and began apologising profusely.

 

  Jack looked at Ryan, “Your Majesty, I can have him taken away,” he was worried about what Ryan was plotting.

 

  Ryan waved Jack quiet, his eyes never leaving Darren.

 

  Darren began to cough and sputter until his breath cut short. He clawed at his throat and his whole chest heaved. Face turning purple and eyes bulging, drool dripped out of his mouth to the floor in thick strands. Tears poured down his face as he struggled to breathe.

 

  Finally, with one last great shuddering heave, Darren made a vile noise of illness and regurgitated something pink onto the floor beneath him.

 

  Able to breathe once more, he gasped and coughed for air.

 

  On the floor the pink object shakily raised its still blind head and _peeped._ It struggled to get to its feet but did not yet have the strength.

 

  Ryan made a sweeping motion with his fingers so that the guards would remove the two farmers.

 

  Darren was dragged out while Franklin was simply escorted away.

 

  Smirking, Ryan asked the room, “Is the chicken farmer still here?”

 

  Meg found herself appreciating the pun; the King could have taken a far more vulgar route. Indeed, in the face of such an insult she probably would have.

 

  A servant hurried forward to grab the chick, and another came with a rag to clean the mess. It only took them a few seconds to return everything to its previous state, after which they disappeared once more.

 

  The Crier came forward as if nothing unusual had happened, “Mariana De La Blanco; seeks your aid and council.”

 

  A haggard looking woman came forward. Her long black hair was tied into a messy bun and appeared as if it hadn’t been washed in quite some time. In her arms she tightly gripped a child roughly four years of age.

 

  The child’s eyes were closed.

 

  Out of curiosity, Ryan reached out with his magic to better inspect the situation. He frowned, the child was dead.

 

  Which meant she was here to ask one thing.

 

  “Your Majesty, Lord, my son–” She started.

 

  Ryan interrupted, “Your son is dead. Nothing can be done for him, but a burial.”

 

  Her eyes watered at the immediate rejection but she held strong, “I beg of you, I shall pay any price, just name it. Have mercy.”

 

  Ryan wasn’t sure the logical approach would work here, but tried anyway, “To begin raising the dead for all who ask would be to set a dangerous precedent. I will not agree to it.”

 

  “May he be an exception, please.” Her tears began to fall.

 

  “You are far from the first to ask this of me. There will be no exception.” His expression grew cold and made it clear there would be no further discussion on the topic.

 

  The castle guard came to take her away, but she shook them off, “Please!” she wailed, “He is my only son!”

 

  “ _Was._ ” Kdin muttered loud enough for both Jack and Ryan to hear.

 

  Jack shot him an angry glare. On this topic Jack was in full agreement with Ryan. To start raising the dead would be chaos. The King’s time was far better spent elsewhere.

 

  The guards grabbed her more securely and forced her from the room as she began weeping.

 

  Ryan caught Jack’s eye and the Captain gave him a reassuring nod.

 

  Ryan gave a soft snort; if that woman was desperate and foolish enough she would resort to finding a necromancer. Her son would be returned to her, but he would be a hollow shadow of his former self.

 

  And just because Ryan himself had returned from the dead, didn’t mean he knew how to bring back others.

 

  But that was something he wasn’t about to admit.

 

  The Crier returned for the final time, “Your Majesty, that is all who have come this day to seek your time.” He bowed and then turned to the crowd, “Should anyone here seek the wisdom of the King, speak now.” He paused to allow anyone to answer. The room remained silent so he concluded, “Then may you all go in peace.”

 

  Ryan stood and stretched out his back. This gave everyone in the room permission to begin filtering out.

 

  Jack waited for Ryan at the base of the throne.

 

  “What is it, Captain?” Ryan asked him.

 

  “That was hardly fair to the chicken.” Jack smiled.

 

  Ryan chuckled, “Yes, well, would you prefer I had taken the other route?”

 

  Jack shook his head with a look of mock horror, “Gods no!”

 

  “When are you going to let me eat someone during one of these?” Kdin had silently crept up next to them. He bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for an answer.

 

  Ryan sighed, “Your loyalty is not a reveal I take lightly.”

 

  “And I'd rather not have a dragon in the throne room. What if you displace or topple a pillar? With the whole court present?” Jack asked him quietly.

 

  Kdin snorted; clearly not concerned by their safety, “The King could care for them,” he looked to Ryan, “Could you not?”

 

  Ryan shrugged, “I'd much rather enjoy the rampage.”

 

  Jack just sighed, “A rampage it will be...”

 

  “Maybe if another lord decides to rebel; but not for a simple matter of audience.” Ryan told Kdin.

 

  Kdin scoffed, turned on his heel, and left.

 

  Ryan appeared to remember something, “Meg– Lady Turney.” He called out and corrected himself.

 

  Meg had been making her way out of the room and halted. The use of her first name – and a nickname at that – had startled her. The King had never referred to her as anything but ‘Lady Turney' before.

 

  Curious eyes watched her as she made her way over to the King and curtsied.

 

  “Take some time to freshen up, and then meet me in my chambers.” Ryan ordered.

 

  “I will, Your Majesty.” Meg curtsied again and left. She wasn’t in the mood for another round of cards, but her feelings on the matter hardly counted, did they?

 

  She did however, appreciate the time to freshen up beforehand. The summer heat was making her silks stick to her skin, and some drier clothes would have her feeling better.

 

  The castle had no true ‘Queen's Bedchamber' or any sort of family living for the royals, as up until Michael took the throne, it had always only been single men ruling the kingdom. So she had shared Gavin’s royal chamber while he had been on the throne.

 

  Now she had a much smaller room to call her own, but it was still noble accommodation.

 

  Honestly, she was just happy she wasn’t living in the dungeon. Chains were a bad look on her anyway.

 

  She fixed up her hair and slipped into a less formal dress. If she was playing cards, she would do so comfortably.

 

  Her maid laced up the back of her dress, “The King calls you again, My Lady?” She asked.

 

  “He does indeed.” Meg replied and kept it at that.

 

  Her maid finished up, and Meg took a final moment to straighten how her dress lay. She took a deep breath and pat the dagger strapped to her thigh. One day it would taste the King’s blood, but not yet. Today it was her confidence, a token of protection.

 

  It was time to head out. Keeping the King waiting would be rude. She stepped into her silk slippers and out into the hall.

 

  It took her a few minutes to travel the distance between her chambers and the King’s, but soon enough she was standing before his door.

 

  As always, she knocked first.

 

  “Come in.” The King answered.

 

  Meg slowly pushed open the door and made her way inside. As expected she saw the King seated at his game table, so she gave him a curtsey.

 

  “Welcome again, Lady Turney. Please sit down.” Ryan gestured to her usual seat.

 

  She did as ordered.

 

  The doors to his balcony were open and they let the gentle evening breeze in. The sky was not yet darkening, but it would be within the next hour or so. Candles were already set out in preparation and not yet lit.

 

  Ryan shuffled the large deck, cut it, and then handed it to Meg. Meg shuffled the cards as well, and dealt them out.

 

  The game required each player to command an army in battle; and Meg couldn’t help but feel smug about the couple times she had beaten the King. A good chunk of the game was luck, but it still felt great to defeat someone who commanded armies in reality.

 

  She had the rules figured out, and was now focusing on figuring out the King.

 

  He had a reputation of a rash and angry man, but Meg was learning he was patient, observant, and strategic. So much so, she began to think that maybe the rest was an act. To a point of course, he had to enjoy what he did, otherwise he would not build his entire persona around it.

 

  The game moved on and it grew dark. Candles ignited around the room to brighten their game.

 

  Ryan hummed to himself contemplatively as he scratched his chin, watching Meg place another battalion of soldiers.

 

  Meg looked at her hand, if she played him right, she could win this.

 

  Ryan brought out his archers, and easily decimated half of her battalion. Meg only smiled and revealed her mages, which made quick work of his archers and most of his soldiers.

 

  Furrowing his brow in thought, Ryan retreated his remaining foot soldiers. He had no mages of his own to counter Meg, and had to think of another strategy.

 

  Meg yawned. Her eyelids began to droop. This game was beginning to draw out, and she was feeling tired after the day's heat.

 

  Ryan moved forward his ballistae, catapults, and cavalry. He would overwhelm her forces and absorb whatever losses it caused.

 

  Meg began her turn by bringing out her pike men to counter the cavalry. She'd lose her outer wall, but she had a second in which she could regroup. It would be a loss, but it would be one she was ready to make.

 

  Another yawn.

 

  “Am I boring you, Lady Turney?” Ryan asked in jest as he noticed her sleepiness.

 

  “No, Your Majesty. I do not know why sleep has taken me so. I apologise.” She rubbed her eyes.

 

  “We can adjourn our game, if you wish?” Ryan proposed.

 

  Meg shook her head, she wasn’t going to quit a game that she knew she could win, “I’m fine,” as soon as she finished her sentence another yawn forced its way from her.

 

  She was so unbelievably tired her head was starting to feel far too heavy. It was becoming absurd, and as her thoughts slowed one rose to the surface of her mind; this was not natural.

 

  She was under the influence of a spell.

 

  With an accusing glare she turned to the King, “I’ve been bewitched!”

 

  Ryan raised an eyebrow, but appeared unconcerned. He said nothing.

 

  Meg pushed herself up onto her feet.

 

  Ryan immediately protested, “Don’t– Stay seated!”

 

  “You–!” She swayed dangerously and then toppled over her chair to hit the floor.

 

  Ryan was on his feet instantly but was too slow in his reaction to catch her. He saw her eyes close and quickly checked her for any bleeding or obvious injury.

 

  “Shit.” He swore, and moved her chair away to where it was no longer a hazard. He had intended for that to be far less violent.

 

  He took a deep breath and sighed. He had wanted her to believe herself tired enough to fall asleep on her own, but now she knew it was a spell; he'd overdone it.

 

  If she wasn’t suspicious of him already, she would be now. She was far too bright, and would figure out what he was doing soon enough.

 

  Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to have to lock her up. He had wanted to prevent himself from liking her simply on principle, but was growing to admire her. It was only going to make this more difficult.

 

~*~

 

  The sun was not yet up when Meg stirred.

 

  She groaned and grabbed an armful of plush blankets, drawing them into a tight bear hug. Her right hip and elbow hurt, as did her head.

 

  The memory of last night was abruptly vivid in her mind, and her eyes opened wide. Any vestige of sleep was instantly gone.

 

  She had fallen to a spell of the King’s, and now she lay in his bed.

 

  Slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

 

  She was in the King’s bed, but he was not beside her.

 

  Meg sat up and threw aside the covers. The door to the bedchamber was closed and she was alone. Looking down she also saw that she was wearing only her undergarments and not the dress she had on last night.

 

  Sickness turned her stomach at the thought of the King undressing her... having his claws touch her–! She gagged and got out of his bed.

 

  She found her dress folded on top of a small table. Resting on the folded fabric lay her dagger in its sheath.

 

  _Great._ She thought, _Now he knows about my dagger too._ It didn’t stop her from dressing herself quickly and strapping the dagger back on.

 

  She approached the bedchamber door and gently pushed it aside to peek into the large chamber beyond. It was the chamber she and the King had been sitting within the night before.

 

  A few candles still burned, but most had been snuffed for the night. The sound of gentle snoring came from a darkened corner of the room.

 

  Meg grabbed a lit candle and moved forward. The King was asleep on one of his plush sofas. His curled up position made Meg's muscles twinge in sympathetic pain.

 

  The snoring was coming from him. With one arm under his head and the other hanging loosely off the side, he was fast asleep.

 

  She noticed that he had glamoured away his horns and smirked upon realising that he had done so in order to more comfortably fit the sofa.

 

  She approached his sleeping figure, and her right hand went down to her dagger. Would she ever have this kind of opportunity again? He was completely vulnerable.

 

  Meg reached beneath her dress and slipped the blade free. She _could_ do this, right? Just drive her dagger down into his black heart, or draw it across the soft flesh of his neck... It would be easy.

 

    Of course, then she would have to flee the castle, flee the city, and even flee the province. The whole court had heard The King call her up to his chambers; everyone would know it was her.

 

  And what if she failed? What if she did not do the deed quickly enough and The King had the opportunity to cry out? The Guard would remove her head on the spot.

 

  Was this truly the smartest course of action?

 

  She became transfixed by the play of candlelight across the surface of her dagger's blade. Hiring assassins had been one thing, but to take a life with her own hands?

 

  She’d never done it before.

 

  Was revenge enough of a reason for her to go through with murder? Would Gavin want this stain on her soul?

 

  _I would be saving lives; not just having Gavin’s revenge. He deserves death for his crimes, and will only commit more._

 

  Yet Ryan Haywood had paid for his actions with death before, and here he was.

 

  She looked away from her blade and back down to the King’s face.

 

  His blue eyes were open, and he was watching her silently.

 

  Meg exclaimed and nearly dropped her weapon. When had he awoken?!

 

  Ryan didn’t move and only observed her with curiosity.

 

  “Y-your Majesty, I-I–” Her words failed her as her head and heart raced.

 

  “You want to kill me.” It was a statement.

 

  “I-I no, that’s not, I,” Meg was lost. She was screwed.

 

  “So much fear.” He remarked, and sat up.

 

  “What are you going to do to me?” Meg looked at him wide-eyed and was becoming convinced that the King’s piercing blue human stare was worse than the monstrous one.

 

  “That depends entirely on your next move, Lady Turney.”

 

  “What...?” She blinked.

 

  “Are you going to follow through with your little assassination attempt,” Ryan stared her directly in the eye, “or have appearances been misleading, and this is all a grand misunderstanding?”

 

    Her breath caught in her throat. He was giving her a way out, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe it wasn’t going to come with a hefty price, “And I would owe you...?”

 

  “Well, your life, obviously, but I don’t plan on collecting. No,” he shook his head.

 

  Meg felt as if all warmth was leaving her.

 

  “Give me a drop of your blood, and I will permit you to live as you have before. Same rules; you can’t leave the city.” Ryan offered.

 

  Every curse Meg knew ran through her head. Someone as skilled in the dark arts as he, could do pretty much anything with her blood.

 

  She would be a puppet to the Crown.

 

  Ryan stood and stretched out his back where the sofa had hurt him, “I'll give you some time to decide your fate. Sleep still calls me, and I plan to answer it in my own bed.” He walked past her without even a glance at the blade she still held, “Oh, and if you do decide to flee,” he turned, “I may have trouble finding The First, but will have none finding you.” He left to his bedchamber.

 

  Meg heard him throw his weight onto his bed, and stood in silence. She felt rooted to the spot. All she wanted to do was scream and never stop.

 

  Maybe she could live in the woods as a banshee. That seemed far better an option than what she had now.

 

  With her fear dying down, her body began to tremble in anger. She grew furious.

 

  She decided to confront him. What was he going to do? Kill her? It would be preferable to being a slave.

 

  Curling up her fists she marched towards the open door of his bedchamber.

 

  The door slammed shut mere inches from her face.

 

  After being startled, Meg only got angrier. She pounded on the door with the butt of her dagger, “Hey, _Your Majesty!_ ” She mocked the title and sneered, “Locking yourself in your room like some child?!”

 

  She felt his magic lazily target her and immediately threw up a full defence. The spell shattered, and Meg recognised it as a silencing charm.

 

  Meg put her candle down to free her hand for some rude gestures, “What?! Can’t take the truth? Then you better just kill me! Or do you want me alive, huh? That’s the only reason I can think of as to why you’ve kept me around so long!” she huffed, “And if you want me alive, then I’m the one with more power here!” she made the realisation as she shouted it.

 

  The question now was _why_? Why did he need her alive?

 

  All the reasons she came up with were frightening or horrific.

 

  She stomped her foot, “You're a bull-headed son of a heifer!” she felt that insult fit particularly well and couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction, “Answer me, Ryan!”

 

  Further silence.

 

  _Fine, I’ll just make your life Hell._ Meg vowed. She would start with today's council meeting.

 

  _Have fun when your authority gets undermined._

 

~*~

 

  Gavin walked between the stalls of the small farmer’s market. His mission was to find the few items he and Geoff needed most, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to pine after luxuries he missed.

 

  Pulling his brown hood further down to block the sun, he stopped in front of a woman selling soap, and inhaled the fragrance. Of all things he would have never thought soap would be one he missed most. It was proper soap too; not that charcoal and animal fat mixture Geoff made and called by the same name.

 

  “Smell fresher than any lord! Aye, maybe better than the King himself!” the woman noticed him admiring her wares. She was old and weather worn, her hair tied back with a head scarf, and her smile missing several teeth.

 

  “The King gets pretty good soap.” Gavin replied with a grin.

 

  “Oh from the Western Isles are we?” She noticed his accent immediately, “You’re wandering out far east, ain't cha?”

 

  “Passin' through, is all.” Gavin waved her question aside, “And after a long travel, let me tell you: a bath is a luxury.”

 

  “Whereabouts ya headed?” she cocked her head.

 

  “Just wandering really.” Gavin shrugged, “Lettin' the wind guide me.”

 

  “You should think about finding yourself a home. It would do you good. Maybe even get ya some meat on your bones.” The old woman chuckled.

 

  Gavin chuckled with her, “I hope to.” He gave one last longing look at the soap and left to the next stall.

 

  The mid summer market didn’t have the same level of variety as one closer to harvest would, but it was still quite the display. Farmer’s carts were filled with berries, tubers, onions, herbs, preserves, sausages, and salted meats.

 

  It was all making his mouth water. He'd been eating unseasoned meat and scavenged plants for months now. It felt as if his palate was on its deathbed, and oh, _what he wouldn’t do for some spices!_

 

  Unfortunately, he and Geoff had fled northwards, and unlike in the south, spices were a rarity here. Some were even worth more than gold.

 

  Spices would not be found in a village like this, and even if they were, Gavin’s pitiful coin purse did not hold enough to buy them.

 

  Gavin grinned as he imagined Geoff’s fury should he return with nothing but some cinnamon or chilli. It would be his own funeral, but completely worth it.

 

  He moved away from the temptation of the farmers and towards the few craftspeople that had set up shop. They were there mostly to serve the farmer's needs, but wouldn’t turn away a potential customer.

 

  Gavin found the apprentice of a local smithy. The young girl was just hitting her teen years. Her long platinum blond hair was braided back, and she wore the heavy leather apron of a blacksmith.

 

  Smiling brightly, she noticed Gavin’s interest as he wandered near. Putting down some horseshoes she had been advertising, she quickly approached him.

 

  “Need metal work done? Tools repaired? Horseshoes or a plough?” She sung the ask.

 

  Gavin couldn’t help but smile, “I’m looking for knives, and a bucket... Oh, and I need a saw fixed!” he remembered the last item.

 

  “We have all that back in the shop!” She told him, “Follow me!” She folded up the horseshoes and scythe blades she had on display and bundled them in her arms before leading the way.

 

  She led him further into the village until they happened upon a small building with a large porch and a wooden sign hanging from the roof shaped like a horseshoe.

 

  A black and brown mutt raced out of from behind the building to greet them. It barked in excitement at the sight of a stranger.

 

  A gruff voice shouted from where the mutt had raced over from, “Cloe, I told you to stay at the market!”

 

  “I have a customer!” the girl shouted back.

 

  A balding man with a thick grey beard laced with white came around from the back of the stone and wood building. He was wiping his hands with a cloth, “Eh? Welcome!” He nodded to Gavin.

 

  The mutt approached Gavin with curiosity and he obliged it by letting it sniff his hand.

 

  Immediately it barked at him and began to howl.

 

  The bearded man hushed the dog. It was quiet for about a full second before it began to howl again.

 

  “Head back to the market, and take your mutt with you!” He ordered Cloe.

 

  With a quick nod she ran off and whistled for the dog to follow. It did.

 

  The man turned back to Gavin, “What kind of,” he paused.

 

  Both he and Gavin turned their heads towards the wood far beyond the farms as the lone howl of a wolf carried out on the still air.

 

  “Great, damn dog's gone an' got the wolves excited.” The man shook his head and then looked back to Gavin, “Anyway, what kind of work do you need done?”

 

  “Need a bucket, a sturdy knife, and a repair for my saw.” Gavin pulled off the large sack he had slung over his shoulders.

 

  More wolves began to howl, this time from a location further out.

 

  The man waved for Gavin to follow him and headed back behind the building, “Shepherds would have never let those beasts so close to the village before, but now with that damned law... You know.”

 

  Gavin did not know, “Uh.”

 

  He furrowed his brow as he saw Gavin’s clueless face, “I guess you don’t.”

 

  “No, sorry.”

 

  “They’re under the King’s protection now; every last one of ‘em.” The man informed him as they made their way around back.

 

  The blacksmith’s building had a large overhanging roof that created a sheltered outdoor workspace. His whole workshop lay beneath. Inside the building, the main floor was his shop, and the second floor was where he lived.

 

  Gavin admired the setup the man had, “You the owner?”

 

  “I am. My family's been running a bellows for generations now.” He replied proudly, “Maxwell Darley, blacksmith ‘round these parts. I may not be as good as a castle smith, but I’m the best you’re going to find within miles.”

 

  Gavin nodded, “Robert Freeman.” He falsely introduced himself.

 

  “So show me your saw, and I’ll see what I can do.” Maxwell walked around a large work table and patted its surface.

 

  Gavin dug through his bag and brought out the saw, placing it on the table. It was bent in two different places.

 

  Maxwell laughed, “You bent it, and then tried to fix it yourself, didn’t you?”

 

  Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah.” He admitted.

 

  “It will take some hammering and a little heat to fix. Won’t take long.” Maxwell smiled, “As for what you wanted to buy; all my knives are on display in the shop with their price, and buckets... I have two kinds: iron strapped wooden or an all steel pail. Wooden is far cheaper.”

 

  “I'll take wooden then.” Gavin nodded.

 

  “Sounds good. This saw shouldn’t even take the next hour; go inside, take a look at my wares, and get comfortable.” He gave Gavin a toothy grin.

 

  As Gavin entered the small store, Maxwell's bellows started with a squeak and groan.

 

  The store was filled with every metal tool and implement a farmer could ever need. Tongs, hooks, pitchforks, scythes, hoes, shovels, a plow, horseshoes, hammers, a couple pickaxes, and every shape and size of knife.

 

  Walking by a barrel full of nails, Gavin made straight for the knives laid out on a wooden display. They needed a knife that wasn't too specialised; it had to be good for gutting, skinning, and cooking. It needed to cut through bird, beast, and fish alike. Maybe even zombie if times became dire.

 

  He picked up a knife with a blade roughly five inches in length, and turned it over in his hands. It had a nice thick blade that was sturdy but still flexible.

 

  Checking over his shoulder to ensure no one was watching, he braced the flat of the blade against the edge of the store's main counter. Putting one hand on the blade and another on the handle, he pushed down with his weight to test how well it would fare.

 

  The metal began to bend under him, but when he removed his weight it returned to its original shape.

 

  Excellent. Hopefully that meant it was good enough for Geoff.

 

  Hammering sounds started up, and Gavin knew that the blacksmith was now working on straightening the saw.

 

  There was no place to sit within the store, so he put the knife down on the counter and headed back out.

 

  “How goes the battle?” He asked Maxwell with a grin.

 

  The blacksmith stopped his hammering and held up the saw blade, “You did a real number on her. I’ll be a while still; why don’t you head back to the market? When you return I shall have it ready for you.”

 

  “I’ll see you then, then.” Gavin waved to him and then picked his way out of the workshop and back around the building.

 

  It wasn’t a far walk back to the market. He could hear the bustle right from the blacksmith's.

 

  The market had only grown busier in the short time he had gone.

 

  He sighed; a busy market meant that vendors would be less likely to barter. His coin purse was going to suffer.

 

  Gavin walked through the stalls of temptation with hunger in his gut and heart. One vendor was frying up strips of bacon and Gavin thought he would never leave his stall. The smell was heavenly and he had to stop himself from drooling.

 

  It wasn’t until a crowd began to gather somewhere behind him that he was finally able to tear his attention away.

 

  A man dressed in a black hooded robe and leather armour had climbed onto the back of a vendor’s cart. He had his arms outstretched and was urging the crowd to gather before him.

 

  Gavin’s interest was piqued and he joined the growing crowd. He wondered what reason the man might have for wearing black AND armour in such heat.

 

  Satisfied that his crowd was large enough, the black garbed man threw down his hood. He had messy black hair and warm brown eyes.

 

  He smiled kindly, “Attention all!” he waited for the audience to settle down, “I am an Acolyte of the Dark Order, and I have come to your village this day seeking those who wish to join our mission.”

 

  Gavin hadn’t heard of the Dark Order before, and it sounded ominous... and illegal.

 

  The man continued, “Who among you are willing to devote your life and soul to serving the Dark God? To serve him is to have his protection in this life and the next; never again shall you be afraid, never shall you befall harm, never will you pray to an absent god! For he is here! And his actions will rebuild us from our ruin!”

 

  Gavin rolled his eyes; this was clearly another nut trying to gain more followers for his cult.

 

  “Beg his mercy, for he is merciful! Bow not only your body, but your soul to him, for to serve him in life is to serve him in death and not fear the dead!” The Acolyte went into a full rant.

 

  “Oi,” Gavin spoke up to get the Acolyte's attention, “And how is that any different than any other god?”

 

  “Well Westerner, that is because the Dark God is real for all to meet and see. He does not hide from his people, nor fill them with the hope of empty promises! He keeps his word, and acts upon it!” The Acolyte looked overjoyed at having caught Gavin’s interest.

 

  “Everyone will argue their god is real.” Gavin responded. He knew he shouldn’t draw attention to himself like this, but he felt like he should have at least some idea of what trends were passing among his people.

 

  The Acolyte laughed, “You argue that he is no god?” he shook his head with a smile, “Then take that argument before him and the throne. Or are his deeds not proof enough? Who else has returned from death? Explain his miracles!”

 

  Gavin was confused now; he only knew of one person to have ever returned from the dead–

 

  Gavin shut his mouth abruptly.

 

  Was Ryan claiming to be a god? Some dark and malicious almighty being?

 

  That was beyond absurd, even for the Mad King!

 

  Or had the Mad King lost his final shred of sanity after his confrontation with Geoff?

 

  Gavin thought it over. He and Geoff had no idea what state Ryan was in, and vice-versa. Ryan could believe Geoff too injured to challenge him... why else would they have disappeared for months?

 

  And if Ryan thought Geoff defeated, then he could claim to be the most powerful man in the kingdom. Geoff was considered a god-like figure by many, so it would make sense that the man to defeat him would be seen as a more powerful god than he.

 

  Gavin’s silence was noticed by the Acolyte, “Have you seen the truth of it Westerner?”

 

  “I believe I have, yes.” Gavin nodded and left the crowd. Geoff needed to know about this as soon as possible. If they waited much longer, it wouldn’t matter who sat on the throne; the kingdom would remain loyal to Ryan.

 

  Who would the people follow when asked to choose between a king and a god? Gavin felt the answer was obvious, and it meant that they had to depose Ryan soon. The longer he went unchallenged, the stronger his claim became.

 

  The food vendor’s stalls only turned his stomach now as he hurried back to the blacksmith’s.

 

  Ryan was mad, but he was clever. A dangerous combination that Gavin needed to halt before the damage done was irreversible.

 

~*~

 

  Meg scratched at the lace against her neck as she made her way to the King’s Hall for the day’s council meeting. For the first time in a long while she was excited and eager for the meeting.

 

  She had to work hard to conceal her cheer.

 

  It was a downright foolish thing to do, but it was clear the King wanted her alive and relatively unharmed, otherwise he would have killed or imprisoned her for drawing a dagger on him. She would show him her spirit could not be broken so easily. He knew she wasn’t loyal to him; so she would ensure he never got the satisfaction of having her obey.

 

  This council meeting would only be the beginning.

 

  She took the long route to the hall, and ensured she was late.

 

  When she walked in to the hall the council meeting had already started. The King sat with his council, and had removed his earlier glamour to reveal his horns again.

 

  Jack sat on the King’s right, and Kdin on his left. Steffie, Trevor, Mica, and Tina were seated in their usual seats around the table.

 

  The King was surprised by her appearance, “I did not think you would be joining us today, Lady Turney.” He interrupted Trevor who had been speaking.

 

  Everyone turned to look at her.

 

  She curtsied, “Your Highness.”

 

  Ryan raised an eyebrow.

 

  Jack frowned. Addressing Ryan as ‘Highness' instead of ‘Majesty' was a subtle slight. It implied that Ryan was not the highest power in the land.

 

  Ryan turned back to Trevor, ignoring the change in title, “Please continue, Lord Collins.”

 

  “Ah, yes.” Trevor cleared his throat, “So the South Western farmers who had their crops devastated by weevils are requesting grain for the winter, as it is too late in the summer to sow again.

  That being said; the late spring frosts are showing their results in the reduced yield of Northern summer harvests. The fall harvest is likely to be lesser as well.

  Much of the kingdom will potentially starve come winter, if nothing is done to address this.”

 

  “And how are our stores faring?” Ryan asked.

 

  Steffie answered, “Our stores can support us and the city comfortably, but not if we give the Southwest and North what they require.”

 

  Ryan rubbed his chin, “And what if we needn’t be comfortable this winter?”

 

  “You would have us go hungry?” Meg challenged.

 

  “Better than having half the kingdom starve.” Jack responded angrily. It was the best solution, even if it meant no one would be happy.

 

  Meg nodded her head in apology to Jack; he was not the one she wanted to inflame.

 

  “Lady Dayton, do you know how the fishermen of the East are faring? Could they handle a quota?” Ryan asked Tina.

 

  “I will make note to investigate.” She responded with a nod.

 

  “If we can increase our stores of salted and preserved meats, it still will not replace the need for bread.” Steffie understood what the King was thinking.

 

  “We can fight malnutrition come spring. I want my people living to see their next year, and unfortunately we do not have the luxury for it to be in comfort.” Ryan told her, “Meat with no bread or grain is still better than nothing at all.”

 

  “And what of magic?” Meg spoke up and picked her next words, “It was said The First could conjure a feast from the air. Is that not something a powerful enough magic user could replicate?”

 

  Meg knew her words hit their mark as Ryan’s eyes narrowed.

 

  “You graduated from the Academy, did you not?” The King asked her.

 

  Meg hesitated in replying; she had an idea of the point he was going to make.

 

  “Then how about you answer your own question and explain to the others here how conjuring,” to emphasise the word he waved his hand and a large loaf of fresh bread appeared on the council table, bringing with it a warm aroma, “works.”

 

  Meg stared at the bread and prodded it with her own magic to ensure it was no illusion, “Conjuring requires the caster make their magic take a solid form and remain that way indefinitely.”

 

  “Conjuring a feast would not feed a nation. Nor will conjuring several loaves of bread. It would feed an individual for a day, two at most, and then they will hunger again. Not to mention, any conjured food would have to be rationed among a select few; how would you choose who deserves food and who doesn’t?

  Tell me of a method which all would agree upon, and I won’t throw you to the ensuing riots.” Ryan’s expression hardened with aggression, “King Geoff knew this, as do I. Read the records and you will learn that there was more than one famine during his rule.”

 

  “Yet isn’t feeding some better than feeding none?” Meg did her best to appear calm and unaffected by his answer.

 

  “Lady Turney,” Mica cautioned her gently.

 

  Ryan put up his hand to silence Mica, his eyes not leaving Meg, “I welcome you to feed as many as you can.”

 

  Meg swallowed. Was that a threat or a challenge? Would she be spending the winter on the streets, or would it be her body feeding the people?

 

  Ryan calmed and leaned back, “Lord Collins, I will require a list of all the iron and coal mines in the kingdom as well as their location and size. Focus on the largest that have excavated the most earth. Make it a priority.” He ordered.

 

  “I will, Your Majesty. If I may make mention; if you are looking for the largest mines, then it would be the diamond and emerald mines that would be most promising.” Trevor offered.

 

  Ryan shook his head, “Those mines are narrow and grid-like. I require those that are cavernous.”

 

  Jack was curious, “Could I ask the reason?”

 

  “I have a potential plan for acquiring some more food for the winter.” Ryan told him. He then turned to Steffie, “How are the servants faring with the reduced Castle Guard?”

 

  “So far there have been only small concerns, nothing worth mentioning.” Steffie answered.

 

  “The Castle Guard has its concerns.” Jack added, “They feel more vulnerable.”

 

  “Have they given voice to what exactly it is they fear?” Ryan tilted his head, and it pointed his horns further forwards.

 

  “They know Narvaez and The First are unaccounted for, and worry they will storm the castle. The Guard is always the first victim in such instance, so I sympathise with them.” Jack's expression was kind but sad.

 

  “What would you suggest to remedy this? You know we must cut cost wherever we can.” Ryan shifted in his seat, “I feel the castle is safe enough, but how would I give them that same comfort?”

 

  “I will have to think on it.” Jack admitted, “But for the time being, I feel they would do well with a few assuring words from their King.”

 

  Ryan nodded, “I will make time for it.”

 

  Tina took the lull as an opportunity to speak to her business, “Your Majesty, I would seek your permission to head East. I have discussed it with you before, but feel that the longer we dally, the colder any leads become.

  I know that the last insurrection was not Narvaez's doing, but the Eastern Lords still hold rebellion in their hearts. I would be best stationed there, rather than serving council here.”

 

  Ryan was hesitant to allow her; she was rumoured to have once been an assassin, and the Red King had earned his title by slaughtering every last one he could find.

 

  But now his hesitation was making her frustrated and everyone else suspicious. He had no choice but to let her go, “Yes, you may ready yourself and leave at your leisure.”

 

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Tina smiled.

 

  Kdin shifted in his seat, “So can I have that bread, or is someone else going to lay claim to it?”

 

  All eyes went back to the loaf of bread still on the table and then to Kdin.

 

  “Do you even like bread?” Jack was curious.

 

  Ryan looked at Jack with mild disappointment. He knew that Jack knew of Kdin, but the rest of the council did not. Even the strangest foreigner would still eat bread.

 

  “It smells very good.” Kdin replied. Indeed, the aroma had filled the King’s Hall by this point.

 

  “Indulge yourself.” Ryan gave him permission.

 

  Kdin reached across the table and grabbed the loaf.

 

  Meg watched him tear into the bread with fascination at its inner softness. Had the man never eaten bread before?

 

  “Where are you from again?” Meg had to ask.

 

  Kdin swallowed his mouthful, “Southern Teeth.” He returned to the bread.

 

  Ryan decided to change the topic, “Are there any further items that need to be brought to my attention?”

 

  It was time for Meg to be bold, “Actually yes. I wish to visit my brother who has fallen ill. He is with my family, and I should not be absent.” It was a complete lie; she just needed a way to directly challenge a ruling of his. And he had ruled that she not leave the city.

 

  “I have informed you that I do not wish for you to leave the city, have I not? Twice?” Ryan’s curiosity was keeping him humouring her. She really was making a nuisance of herself today.

 

  “Which is why I seek your permission.” Meg argued.

 

  “Then you do not have it.” Ryan stated. The last thing he wanted was for her to disappear on him. She was only useful while he had her.

 

  “Not even to see my brother? What if he dies, and I’m not there?!” Meg appeared absolutely grief-stricken.

 

  “My answer is unchanged and non-negotiable.” He pushed his seat back and stood, “Today’s council is adjourned.”

 

  Meg stood angrily and debated taking the argument further when a gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her.

 

  It was Mica, “May we speak, Lady Turney?” she gestured out of the room.

 

  The King gave Meg one last look of irritated questioning, and disappeared into thin air.

 

  The council stood from their seats and grabbed their things, before beginning to head off towards their own destinations.

 

  Meg followed Mica in silence until they reached a small empty room away from curious ears.

 

  Mica took a breath to compose herself, “Meg, what in the gods' names are you thinking?!”

 

  Meg smiled at her concern for her, “Mica,”

 

  Mica was quick to cut her off, “I do not presume to know the nature of your relationship with King Ryan. Nor do I wish to. But that is the _Mad King_ you are disrespecting – The Dark God himself! He will have his retribution.”

 

  Meg was struck by her words, “My _relationship_ with the King?” she scoffed in disbelief.

 

  Mica appeared slightly embarrassed, “It’s all the castle is talking about of late. Normally I would not mention it, as it is not my business, but I worry for you.”

 

  Meg shook her head trying to piece together what she was hearing, “Wait, you don’t think him and I are–?” she wasn’t going to finish the question.

 

  “I didn’t at first, but half the castle heard your quarrel last night – and you were with the last king: the title of Queen is–”

 

  “No!” Meg exclaimed.

 

  “Or The King sees this as his final victory over his predecessor–” Mica tried the other rumour she had heard.

 

  “Mica, no!” Meg shook her head vigorously.

 

  “But the evenings, the nights, all in his chambers– What has been happening? And the council meeting today; how could you risk yourself like that?”

 

  “Mica, he and I are in no way... You say the whole castle believes us together?” Meg didn’t know what to think, but if this truly was the prevailing gossip, what was the chance that Ryan _didn’t_ know of it?

 

  It meant he _did_ know.

 

  And he wasn’t saying anything contrary to the rumours.

 

  This was what he wanted.

 

  But why? What could he possibly gain? Was this just to spite her, or had he indeed taken a fancy to her?

 

  “Meg, I believe you over the rumours, but it means that you must be even more cautious.” Mica warned, and then added quietly, “What would Gavin think of today’s display?”

 

  Meg frowned. Gavin would have been proud, but also terrified on her behalf.

 

  These rumours of her and Ryan would have hurt him deeply though. Thankfully, being dead, if he knew of it, he would know the truth: she was no traitor.

 

  “Please Meg, I do not wish to see you executed.” Mica pleaded.

 

  Meg nodded, but her thoughts were on Gavin.

 

  Gavin; the king who had no grave for there had been nothing of him to bury.

 

  She felt the sting of tears. She had no place to pay her respects, and there was no doubt in her mind that that had also been work of Ryan’s. He really was petty and without honour.

 

  She was just a trophy wasn’t she? What was his plan? To hurt Gavin in the afterlife? Gavin would know the truth, and would only be angered, not hurt.

 

  No, to hurt him, _he would have to be alive to hear the rumours._

 

  Meg gave a gentle gasp.

 

  “Meg...?” Mica was concerned once more.

 

  “He’s alive... He has to be!” Her heart jumped and she worked not to let the hope overtake her.

 

  “Gavin...?” Mica tried to follow, but was looking at Meg as if she had lost her mind.

 

  “Yes!” Meg’s was bubbling with joy, “Why else would The King keep me? Ban me from leaving the city? And work so hard to create such vile rumours?” He wanted Gavin as badly, if not more, than Meg did.

 

  Which meant she was his greatest weapon. And he was making good use of her.

 

  “Please, do not build yourself up with such hope; how would have Gavin escaped The King? He does not have the powers of The First.”

 

  Meg smirked, “He does indeed if he and The First fled together.”

 

  Mica opened her mouth to protest, but had nothing.

 

  “We know The King’s greatest secret, and _fear._ ” Meg grinned, “Gavin and The First are allied, and coming for the crown. I am his hostage. As long as I remain, Gavin will not dare to strike.” It also explained why Ryan wanted some of her blood. It would complete his ownership of her.

 

  This was dangerous information to have. Her next moves would have to be beyond careful.

 

  Mica's mind raced, “I cannot keep this secret. Not from The King.”

 

  Meg put her hands on Mica’s shoulders, “I do not want to test your loyalty like this, I’m sorry, I really am, but he cannot know.”

 

  “Meg, I–” Mica’s eyes suddenly widened and she dropped down into a bow.

 

  Meg turned to ice as a third voice, the voice of The King, spoke, “Lady Burton, could you please leave us?”

 

  Mica did not hesitate in leaving the room.

 

  Meg steeled herself and turned to face him, “I should have assumed you were in the habit of spying on me.” With him standing so close to her she became acutely aware of just how much larger than her he was.

 

  “And it has proven to be in my best interest.” Ryan responded and crossed his arms, “Your days of living in the castle comfortably have come to an end, Turney. Consider yourself stripped of all titles, and no longer a guest, but a prisoner.”

 

  “Do your worst, Mad King.” Meg challenged him.

 

  Ryan chuckled, “You know I won’t. You’re far too valuable to _ruin._ ” He sneered.

 

  Striking faster than any serpent, The King grabbed her arm. He pulled up her sleeve, and negating her struggle with his left, he sunk a claw into the meat of her forearm.

 

  Meg bit down on his left arm both to make him let go, and to prevent herself from exclaiming. She wanted to lash out at him with her magic, but his had her restrained and as helpless as a cat in a sock.

 

  “Stop biting!” Ryan pleaded but it did not interrupt him. He used his bloodied claw to draw a swirling arcane symbol on her skin.

 

  Meg only bit down harder, tasting his blood and feeling the burning heat of his magic attempting to heal the wound.

 

  He tried to shake her off as he completed the symbol, but to no avail.

 

  The blood used to draw the symbol burst into blinding white flame. The fire greedily devoured the symbol and travelled up the trail of blood back into her wound as if following a fuse.

 

  The fire ignited within her veins and travelled up and throughout her body. Its burning glow could be seen beneath her skin as it moved.

 

  She screamed at the searing pain as Ryan quickly took the opportunity to retrieve and heal his arm.

 

  Upon reaching her head, the pain caused her to fall to her knees and momentarily lose her vision.

 

  After what seemed an eternity, the burning died down and left her feeling a scorched and hollow husk. She was breathing heavily, and looked back up at The King with a livid hatred.

 

  Ryan turned away from her and her glare, “You are no longer welcome in the castle. All your belongings shall be gathered and you will be left to find your way within the city. Find an Inn, find a job, for you will no longer live on The Crown's coin.”

 

  “What have you done to me?!” Meg felt heat on her forearm and looked down just in time to see the claw wound close, “Did you just fucking heal me? After that ordeal?!”

 

  Colour creeped up into his cheeks, “You can leave of your own volition or spend the next month in the dungeons.” He turned back to her, “I recommend you start packing.”

 

  “Like Hell I will!” Meg pushed herself back up onto her feet.

 

  “Then enjoy life on the streets with nothing but the clothes you wear now!” Ryan snapped at her. Why did she have to refuse every act of kindness?

 

  Meg looked at him with absolute fire in her eyes, “You are a vile, petty, and disgusting man!”

 

  Ryan’s nostrils flared, but that was the only indication of the cool anger growing within; this woman was as much a fool as her man, “I had hoped–”

 

  “Hoped for what?!” Meg snarled at him, “That I fall for you? So that we would wed? So that I bear your heirs?”

 

  “No!” Ryan was appalled, “I had hoped that you were smart enough to know that you had been handed a chance to live in captivity comfortably; that as long as you stayed in line you wouldn’t have to feel as if you were a prisoner! But clearly, that is less acceptable to you than living on the streets with no money or title to your name.”

 

  “And why would you give a single ghast's ass about me?!” She shouted.

 

  “Because up until you drew your dagger on me, you were an innocent victim of circumstance in this political storm!” Ryan shouted back at her.

 

  “Since when have you ever hesitated to harm an innocent?!” Meg argued but was happy to have it confirmed to her that he did not know of her previous attempts on his life.

 

  “Since always!” Ryan insisted.

 

  Meg snorted.

 

  Ryan grabbed her by the arm. Ignoring her struggling, he dragged her out into the hallway.

 

  He looked up and down the hall. Seeing no one he appeared somewhat disappointed.

 

  Instantaneously they were in another hallway, before the entrance to a downward heading staircase watched by a guard on either side.

 

  The guards were more startled by the teleportation than Meg, and fell into clumsy bows.

 

  “I want this woman imprisoned!” Ryan ordered and shoved Meg towards them.

 

  The guards did not hesitate in arresting her.

 

  She half-heartedly fought against their iron grip knowing she couldn’t overpower two guards.

 

  “She’s a caster. So have her watched.” Ryan told them.

 

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” One of the guards nodded.

 

  “As you command, Your Majesty.” The other acknowledged the order.

 

  “I need her alive.” Ryan added just to be clear before glaring at Meg, “But I don’t need her comfortable.”

 

  “Oh fuck yourself with a cactus!” Meg swore, “Don’t pretend to be generous!”

 

  “Half rations.” Ryan told the guards. He turned on his heel and walked away.

 

  Meg was roughly dragged down the stairs and into the dungeon.

 

~*~

 

  Instantly Gavin was among the familiar trees of where he and Geoff were living. Teleportation was a wonderful thing, and apparently it was untraceable.

 

  Which meant Geoff felt free to use it liberally.

 

  “Geoff!” Gavin called out as he approached their small stone cabin, “We’re nearly out of coin, but I managed to get what we needed!” he pulled the heavy sack from his shoulder and placed it against the cobblestone wall of their home.

 

  “I’m around back!” Geoff announced.

 

  Gavin walked around the building and past his woodpile to where Geoff was squatted in front of a cooking fire. There were two rabbits skewered above the flames, and Geoff was watching them carefully.

 

  “Hey,” Gavin greeted and dropped down next to him, “I’ve got news from town.” He offered.

 

  “Let me guess; the Mad King is still a tyrant?” Geoff smirked.

 

  “Actually a bit more alarming than that. He’s saying he's a god now. Has a cult of worshippers and everythin'.” Gavin pulled up a handful of grass from the ground, “A Dark Order worshipping the Dark God Ryan.”

 

  “What a terrible name for a god.” Geoff muttered but it was clear on his face he didn’t like the news.

 

  “People seem to think that since he ‘defeated' you and did the whole ‘returning from the dead' thing he’s of a higher power.” Gavin tossed his handful of grass on the fire.

 

  Geoff sighed and dropped down to sit on the ground, “Why do you never bring back good news?”

 

  Gavin shrugged, “Difficult to do with that bastard on the throne.”

 

  “I was actually thinking about how he'd returned from the dead.”

 

  “Oh?”

 

  Geoff nodded, “I would assume it to be a one time trick, but what if it isn’t? To kill him would only delay his inevitable return... and make him angrier.”

 

  “He did stay dead for almost two decades. That is no short amount of time.” Gavin pointed out.

 

  “But what if practice makes him better at it? That amount of time could easily shrink... The only way to stop such revival would be that time take him, and we do not have that luxury.”

 

  “I still say we kill him, and worry about a revival afterwards. I will ensure he is burned this time. Nothing left of him but ash.” Gavin had a look of determination on his face.

 

  “Then we have to worry about his soul. If he has a cult, some poor bastard somewhere will attempt to resurrect him.” Geoff rubbed his face, “And without a body I doubt he'd have qualms about possession.”

 

  “Couldn’t we trap his soul? Isn’t that a practice in necromancy?” Gavin remembered hearing that somewhere.

 

  Geoff appeared thoughtful, “Possible... it would have to be a powerful object capable of storing his magical power...” Geoff’s eyes widened and he smiled, “Which already exists!” he looked at Gavin in excitement, “His sword! Of course then the blade would have to sealed away where no one could touch it – to touch it would only have his soul overshadow yours...

  This could work. I would have to figure out the spellwork and how to do it so that he can’t easily break it... but, yes, I think I can do it.”

 

  Gavin perked up, “What materials would you need?”

 

  Geoff took a deep breath, “Well, I mean, we would have to kill Ryan first, then take his sword and blood... that’s the key part, and the most difficult. Everything else should be easy enough. I would require some materials from the Nether. Namely Nether quartz to use as a conduit, but I can navigate the Nether well enough.”

 

  “Oh good.” Gavin’s spirits sunk, “So we just have to kill him first. We’re back exactly where we were.”

 

  “No, we’re not. Now we know what we need to prepare for. We have the solution to our problem.”

 

  “Call me daft, but ain’t the problem Ryan being alive?!” Gavin argued, “If killing him were so easy, then why haven’t we done it already?!”

 

  “Gavin, I’m trying to be optimistic!” Geoff snapped at him, “The battle will not be easy, but it is one we cannot lose. I am immortal; he can try and kill me as much as he like. I just need a good way to go about challenging him so that I don’t have to be carted away covered in straw in the middle of the night whilst unconscious.”

 

  Gavin frowned, “So then _what are you waiting for?_ ”

 

    “I literally just told you! I do not know _how_ to fight him yet; because clearly what I have done in the past does not work.” Geoff’s tone was scolding.

 

  Gavin pouted in silence.

 

  Geoff reached over to the cooking fire to rotate the rabbits.

 

  He didn’t like the silence, “Was there any other news?”

 

  “Yeah; apparently there’s a ban on killing wolves now.” Gavin stated.

 

  “I bet that’s a popular law.” Geoff remarked sarcastically.

 

  Gavin snorted, “Apparently the shepherds just _love_ it.”

 

  “Does anyone know why he made the law?”

 

  “Doesn’t seem like it. At least not all the way out here. Wouldn’t be the first time a king made it illegal to kill an animal.”

 

  Geoff chuckled, “Ray and his ocelots... Maybe this is Ryan’s attempt at spiting him.”

 

  “At least ocelots are only a menace to chickens and fish. Wolves will kill anything. I want to know how long the people will stand for it once children start missing.” Gavin thought aloud.

 

  “You make a good point.” Geoff nodded.

 

  Geoff moved back into a crouch and removed the rabbits from the cooking fire. He held them away from the flames so that they could cool.

 

  “At the market today, you know what I realised I miss more than spices and pastries?” Gavin’s eyes were on the rabbits.

 

  “A hot bath and warm bed?”

 

  “Soap.”

 

  “I have soap.” Geoff argued.

 

  Gavin gave him a look of disgust, “Proper soap, you nut! Scented like herbs or wildflowers.”

 

  “Look I ain’t going to stop you if you want to rub flowers in your ass crack.”

 

  “I’ll be sure to rub nettles in yours!” Gavin snapped and glared at Geoff.

 

  Geoff responded by breaking into hearty laughter.

 

  Gavin could only pout.

 

  Calming down and wiping the tears from his eyes, Geoff carefully removed one of the rabbits and offered it to Gavin.

 

~*~

 

  It was dark, cold, wet, and smelled like every terrible human smell all piled up and layered together into a miasma of misery.

 

  Meg sat in the corner of her cell with her knees pulled up to her chin. The only light came from between the barred window set in the metal door leading out into the hall. It was a pale orange glow that sometimes went out when the guards forgot to come by.

 

  Her stomach yowled like a cat in heat. She didn’t know how many days it had been, but the guards had taken Ryan’s orders to heart. She was receiving barely any food, and it could barely be called food, at that.

 

  Never before had she so desperately wished that she had studied conjuring instead of enchantment. It was no good way to feed yourself once you were already weak, but it would taste better than the cold gruel the guards were handing her.

 

  She brushed back her greasy hair and the chains around her wrists rattled.

 

  She had been right; chains were a bad look on her.

 

  There were muted voices outside, and she raised her head in hope of more food.

 

  The voices grew in volume as they neared. There were three, and one was spitting curses at the other two. Chains chimed against the floor and walls, and the other two voices were swearing as they attempted to subdue the third.

 

  Seemed that two guards were bringing in another prisoner who was less than thrilled to be here.

 

  Curiosity had Meg gather her strength and pull herself up to her feet. Chains jingling behind her, she shuffled over to the barred window in her cell door.

 

  She had been correct in her deduction; two guards were struggling to drag a chained man down the hall towards an empty cell.

 

  “What did he do?” Meg asked. Her voice was small, weak from disuse, and quickly swallowed by the stone around her.

 

  If anyone heard her, then they ignored her, for no one responded.

 

  The chained man was dragged into the cell across from hers and locked up.

 

  The guards closed his cell door and one spat towards the cell.

 

  “Fuck you, it’s not like this is my damned _job_ or anything.” The guard who spat muttered and his partner thumped him on the shoulder.

 

  The two guards left far more quickly than they came; leaving the two prisoners in the gloom alone.

 

  “Hey,” Meg tried to see if she had just gained a conversational partner, “Are you alright?”

 

  “I'm in the Mad King's prison; do I look alright?!” the male voice was gruff and angry.

 

  “Well so am I...” Meg pointed out, “I think they’re trying to starve me.”

 

  “Better fate than what he has planned for me, I’m sure.” He still sounded angry, but his voice was clearer as if he had moved closer to the window in his door.

 

  “What has you here?” Meg didn’t know what else to ask to make conversation.

 

  “What has _you_ here?” the man immediately asked her.

 

  “Uh. Quite a bit actually.” Meg couldn’t really pin down just one reason so she chose the worst, “I drew a dagger on The King and told him to fuck himself with a cactus.”

 

  The man burst out into howling laughter.

 

  Meg couldn’t help but smile, “So what crime have you committed?”

 

  “Cheating grain sales.” He answered, “Found a crafty way to draw grain from sealed sacks after they had already been weighed but before I sold them.

  With the prices of grain as high as they are with all this talk of famine, I was then able to sell the grain twice. Apparently someone noticed, and when they investigated my stock, well, they found out.”

 

  “There’s still talk of famine?” Meg was eager for any news.

 

  “Yeah, well, The Crown says there won’t be, but based on my sales alone, I can confidently say that no one believes them.” He paused, “So how does someone draw a dagger on The King and still live?”

 

  Meg chuckled, “I’m only alive because he needs me alive. I'm bait, and if I die, I lose my worth.”

 

  “So he’s locked you up... Does he know that in order for bait to lure its prey, it has to be seen?”

 

  “He’s made sure it’s known. I bet the rumours will be circling until the end of the year at least. Then maybe he’ll decide to create more.”

 

  “You sound absolutely done with it all.”

 

  “He’s a petty and cruel pig of a man.”

 

  “Hey now, he’s our king.” The man warned, “Did you attack him while he held audience?”

 

  “I’m not a fool; he was asleep, and awoke before I could do the deed.” Meg replied.

 

  “Oh so you’re an assassin, then? Or rather, would be assassin?”

 

  Meg laughed, “If I were an assassin he'd have no throat. I didn’t have the courage to dirty my hands.”

 

  “Yet you speak of him as if he were the absolute scum of the earth. What had you hesitate?”

 

  Meg had to think about it, “I'd never killed anyone before, and as evil a man as he might be... I guess I still couldn’t get myself to perform the deed.”

 

   There was silence.

 

  “I’m a coward, I know.” Meg didn’t like the quiet.

 

  The man spoke again, gently, “I wouldn’t say it was cowardice that stilled your blade, but compassion.”

 

  Meg scoffed, “ _Sure._ ”

 

  “To take a life is no easy task, and had it been easy for you, you would be no better than The King. I have never heard him called compassionate, only merciful on occasion.

  Did you hear of how he killed half a rebel army within seconds? None of those soldiers had the chance for trial, and most were probably there out of fear for their families, for some desperate coin, or even had been forced into uniform.

  Would you really want to share a common quality with someone capable of something like that?”

 

  “You have a way with words, don’t you?” Meg commented but still thought on what he had said. It did make her feel better to have not gone through with murder.

 

  “That’s why I was a merchant.” He laughed, “It’s necessary in the trade.”

 

  A few moments of silence passed between them.

 

  She tugged on her chains absent-mindedly, “What’s your name?” she asked.

 

  “My name?” He chuckled, “Is it worth remembering if I will be dead in a few weeks time?”

 

  Meg frowned, “I think it is, yes.”

 

  “Kyle.” He answered, “You?”

 

  “Meg.” She offered.

 

  Another bout of silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of chains on stone.

 

  “Do you think our King is really as cruel and mad as they say?” Kyle asked quietly.

 

  “He’s no raving lunatic, if that's what you want to know.” Meg responded, “He’s fully lucid and aware of what he does. Not that that is any better...”

 

  Kyle chuckled.

 

  “Why do you ask?” she wondered.

 

  “Curious. I’ve never stood before him, or met him, so all I have is what others say.” Kyle stated.

 

  “Well he is cruel. It seems most Kings are. Gavin was an exception.”

 

  “I’ve heard King Michael was known as being fair and righteous as well.” Kyle put forward.

 

  “I’ve heard that as well, but can only speak from my experience. I am far too young to have lived during his rule. I don’t think anyone from his rule is still alive, actually.” Meg tried to add up the years, “Technically, I guess The First is still alive, but he hardly counts.”

 

  “He doesn’t exactly make his presence known.” Kyle agreed.

 

  “No. It’s a shame really.” Meg sighed, “He seems a bit of a coward for someone who can’t die.”

 

  Kyle laughed.

 

  “I’m serious.” Meg insisted, “What reason does he have for not taking back the throne by now? How is the Mad King on his third reign?! Are the two of them allied?! I don’t understand.”

 

  Kyle was quieted, and then said, “I just find it funny how everyone pines for The First to take the throne again, when none have lived and witnessed his rule.

  Didn’t King Ryan’s first reign begin with an uprising against The First? That would mean the people weren’t happy with his rule, and thought Ryan a better King.”

 

  “That is also the tale as told by the Mad King himself. I wouldn’t put much value in it.

  Even if Ryan had been the better of two evils; I doubt that holds true to this day. Years of rule and power have corrupted him beyond redemption. Not to mention the taint of all those dark magics he immerses himself in...”

 

  “I feel it would be very difficult for a man to remain unchanged after all that.” Kyle remarked.

 

  Meg nodded and realised he couldn’t see it, “Yes, I think so.”

 

  Silence.

 

  “I think I will let sleep take me. Thank you for the lovely conversation.” Kyle told her and moved away from his door back further into his cell.

 

  “Thank you as well.” Meg said and decided to do the same as he.

 

  There was no such thing as a comfortable position on the hard and uneven stone floor, but she had learned that if she lay still enough, exhaustion would eventually take her.

 

  She didn’t know how long it took, but she fell asleep.

 

  ~*~

 

  Gavin stood on one side of the large log, and Geoff on the other. Between them they held their saw.

 

  Back and forth they drew the saw, slowly making their way through the thick trunk.

 

  It was laborious work, and finally when they were about halfway through Gavin suddenly threw up his hands in forfeit.

 

  Geoff was focused on the task at hand and pushed the saw forward, but without Gavin pulling, the toothed blade bit into the wood and stuck. Geoff’s strength easily bent the blade as if it were paper.

 

  “GAVIN!” Geoff screamed as he saw the damage and noticed that Gavin had let go, “WHAT THE FUCK?! YOU MADE ME BREAK OUR SAW!” his voice cracked as he shrieked.

 

  “I didn’t do anything! You’re the one who bloody bent it!” He shouted back.

 

  “Only because you fucking let go without warning!” Geoff argued, “Why the fuck did you let go?!”

 

  “Because I’m tired! Why do we need so much wood anyway?!”

 

  “Because our roof is shit! The first major summer storm comes by and we’re swimming!”

 

  “We’re beneath trees! It’s like a second roof!”

 

  Geoff clenched his jaw and growled, “We haven’t even had this saw for a fortnight since you got it fixed!”

 

  “I’m not the one with inhuman strength, now am I?”

 

  Geoff yanked the saw free of the log and brandished it threateningly, “Get. This. Fixed.” He emphasised each word before forcefully shoving the saw into Gavin’s hands so hard he almost toppled him over.

 

  “With what coin?” Gavin protested.

 

  Geoff snorted, “That’s your fucking problem.”

 

  Gavin opened his mouth to argue, but realised he was no longer in the forest. Instead he was by some bushes at the side of a road.

 

  Stepping out he looked down the road and recognised the village he had gotten the saw fixed in last time.

 

  “Asshole.” Gavin muttered and began to make his way towards to the settlement. Maybe the blacksmith would be kind enough to repair the blade once more since it had broken so soon.

 

  There was no market today, and the village square was quiet.

 

  He looked around in curiosity; the weather was nice, but not even one child was out running across the cobblestone square.

 

  Passing the quiet square, he was feeling anxious; was this paranoia or were all the townsfolk at the town hall for a meeting?

 

  Finally hearing some voices from down a street, his curiosity drew him towards them. Maybe they would be willing to explain to him where everyone was.

 

  He turned the corner of a small squat storefront and readied himself to speak.

 

  “Hello,” he greeted with a smile.

 

  He immediately regretted it.

 

  A soldier garbed in The King’s red and gold was interviewing a resident in the doorway of their home. Upon Gavin’s arrival, they both stopped and stared at him.

 

  The soldier’s hand went to his sword, but he did not draw it.

 

  “Move along, stranger. This is The King’s business.” The soldier warned.

 

  Gavin was sure that all colour was gone from his face, but still managed to force a friendly smile, “Yes, Sir. I will be on my way.” He hoped his voice wasn’t shaking as bad as his hands. All he had to defend himself was a broken saw; he stood no chance against a soldier.

 

  Gavin quickly nodded and turned to leave.

 

  “Hey, wait!” The soldier ordered.

 

  He had no choice but to remain where he was and turn back around to face him, “Yes?”

 

  “Is that a Western accent you have?” The soldier's curious eyes were visible between the slits in his helm.

 

  “Uh, no?” Gavin worked hard to distort his accent but instead only ended up with an accent that didn’t belong anywhere, “Why you askin'?” he almost grimaced at the sound of his own words.

 

  Gavin began to sweat. He had two options here: he could try and talk himself out of arrest, or try and run. The soldier was wearing full armour, so Gavin had a good chance of out pacing him, but rarely did a soldier on duty travel alone. There was undoubtedly more around somewhere nearby.

 

  The soldier approached Gavin and began to scrutinise his face, “Where are you from, and where are you headed?”

 

  Gavin forced his dry mouth to swallow, “Uh, broke my saw.” Gods what a terrible accent, “I work a nearby farm.”

 

  The soldier saw the bent blade in Gavin’s hands, it was hard not to, and nodded, “What’s your name, stranger? And which farm do you work?”

 

  “R-Robert. I work on a farm south of here.” Gavin stuttered and shifted his weight nervously. It would be at least two hours before Geoff brought him home, if not longer.

 

  Geoff was petty when angry, and might even decide that Gavin should spend the night away.

 

  And Gavin had no way of contacting him to tell him otherwise.

 

  “Robert, I’m going to have to ask that you come with me.”

 

  “Why?!” Gavin blurted. Of course the soldier would be suspicious of him, he was being a right blubbering fool.

 

  “I need to ask you a few more questions.”

 

  That finally had Gavin realise he wasn’t going to talk his way out.

 

  Without warning he threw his saw towards the soldier and broke into a full sprint in the opposite direction.

 

  The soldier shouted after him, but Gavin paid him no heed. He ran as fast as he could with only the thought of finding a safe place to hide until Geoff decided it was time for him to return home.

 

  He raced around a pub nearly losing his footing as he took the corner, only to skid to a halt at the sight of two more soldiers.

 

  The soldiers looked at him with stunned curiosity, and stopped leaning against the wooden barrier where they had been resting.

 

  Gavin didn’t waste time in picking another direction.

 

  The first soldier's shouts stirred the other two into action.

 

  Now he had three soldiers chasing him, and he was already starting to gasp for breath.

 

  He glanced quickly over his shoulder.

 

  Six soldiers.

 

  Gavin whined.

 

  Spotting an open doorway, he immediately ducked into it. It was a carriage maker’s workshop.

 

  There was a pile of discarded wood pieces and Gavin didn’t have the opportunity to think twice about using it to hide.

 

  He had barely squatted down when the first soldier ran through the same doorway he had used.

 

  Orders where shouted among the soldiers to fan out and search.

 

  “Block the exits!” one shouted.

 

  “Call the others!” another ordered, and a third left the building to find the rest of their troop.

 

    Gavin was shaking and trying hard to calm himself. He made himself as small as possible, but it wasn’t enough. They were getting closer and closer to his hiding spot.

 

  He could hear more soldiers arrive and further orders be shouted.

 

  Was this how he would die? Cowering behind a wood pile?

 

  “Hey!” A soldier spotted him.

 

  Gavin knew he had no chance of escape but he still jumped to his feet and attempted to flee.

 

  The soldiers easily surrounded and subdued him, throwing him to the ground where they took the time to shackle his hands together.

 

  Roughly pulling him onto his feet, they marched him out of the workshop and back into the village square.

 

  There was a good dozen soldiers in total, and once they were satisfied that he wasn’t going anywhere, their captain ordered that a message be sent to The King.

 

  One of the soldiers that was dressed in lighter armour than the others bowed at the order and ran off.

 

  Gavin felt close to tears, but bit them back and tried to act innocent, “What is going on?! What do you want with me?!”

 

  “You fit the description of a wanted man. We need to prove your identity.” A soldier standing next to him politely answered.

 

  “Don’t talk to the prisoner!” another immediately snapped.

 

  Gavin decided it best to stay quiet and hope for a miracle.

 

  The lightly armoured soldier returned. He faced his superior with a salute, “Word has been sent, sir!”

 

  Gavin did not like how quick that had been. It meant that magic had been used.

 

  And that meant The King was now fully aware of the situation.

 

  With an abrupt shout of “All hail!” all the soldiers fell into deep bows.

 

  Gavin was filled with icy dread as he looked upwards.

 

  The King was here.

 

  He had made magnificent time.

 

  Ryan had appeared at the far end of the square. As he saw and recognised Gavin his lips curled into a cruel smirk.

 

  Gavin stared Ryan down. The King was dressed as if he had expected a battle, but Gavin could not figure out why he was wearing horns.

 

  As Ryan approached, Gavin realised with horror that not only were the horns sprouting from Ryan’s skull, his eyes were inhumanly black with silver irises.

 

  What had happened to the man?!

 

  Ryan stopped to stand directly before Gavin.

 

  The soldiers guarding Gavin kicked out his knees from behind and forced him to a kneeling position on the ground.

 

  Gavin yelped in response, but when Ryan chuckled he stared him down fiercely.

 

  “Isn’t this a most fortuitous meeting?” Ryan almost purred as he looked down on Gavin.

 

  Gavin grit his teeth and refused to answer.

 

  Ryan was only smug, “And has The First finally abandoned his fool? Whereabouts is he?”

 

  Gavin glared at him in defiance.

 

  That had Ryan crouch down to be eye level with him, “Do not try to make me believe that you really are here all on your lonesome.”

 

  No response but his determined glare.

 

  Ryan grabbed a fistful of Gavin’s hair in his gauntleted hand and violently forced his head back. He leaned close, “ _Where is Geoff?!”_

 

  Gavin attempted to spit on The King. He missed, but Ryan still took offense.

 

  Ryan released Gavin’s head, straightened, and then backhanded Gavin across the face.

 

  Gavin was struck with such force that when he collected his senses he realised that the side of his face was against the cobblestone of the square. He could taste and smell his own blood.

 

  Grabbing Gavin’s hair once more, Ryan pulled him back up onto his knees, “If you tell me where he is I may decide to be gracious and allow you a nice cell adjacent to Meg.” Ryan needed information from him, and knew exactly where to strike to get it.

 

  Gavin paled, but remained defiant, “You don’t have her. She’s too smart. She would have fled the city.”

 

  Ryan stood tall and chuckled, “Oh we’ve been having _fun._ She thinks you dead, did you know that?

  I admit she was adversarial at first, but then her self-preservation and ambition took over.”

 

  “You’re lying. You don’t have her.”

 

  “I see now why you liked her,” Ryan leaned down towards him again, “Such strong spirit; she wasn’t easy to break.” The words tasted bad in Ryan’s mouth, but he saw that they were having the desired effect.

 

  “ _Liar!_ ” Gavin screamed at him.

 

  Ryan leaned closer and grabbed Gavin by the jaw, “She tried to slit my throat in my sleep,” he chuckled evilly, “I like them with _fight.”_

 

  That did indeed sound like Meg, and Gavin desperately searched Ryan’s face for any sign of a lie. He found none, but knew the man was a master deceiver; he wouldn’t believe him. He _couldn’t_ believe him.

 

  Ryan released Gavin’s jaw and backed up slightly. He reached beneath his cloak and pulled a dagger from his belt. He held it up and turned it over as if to inspect it, but it was all just a show for Gavin.

 

  Gavin took a moment to recognise the blade, but when he did his heart dropped like lead, and his spirit plummeted beneath the earth.

 

  Ryan was holding Meg’s dagger. The very dagger that Gavin knew she had on her at all times.

 

  Ryan raised and eyebrow in mock surprise at Gavin’s reaction, “Oh? Are you convinced now?” he laughed absolutely pleased with himself. Now he would use Meg’s dagger to curse Gavin as he had cursed her.

 

  He bounced the dagger in his hand as if testing the weight and balance, “Play your cards right, Gavin, and I may even let you bear the ring at our wedding. Wouldn’t that be nice? To finally see her achieve her dream of becoming queen?” his tone was as if he were speaking to a child.

 

  Gavin's whole body quaked with rage, “If you so much as touch her,”

 

  Ryan laughed and his grip on the dagger tightened as he brought it up to Gavin’s neck, “Please do tell me what will happen.”

 

  Gavin swallowed against the cold steel.

 

  “No? Nothing will happen? Just as nothing has happened yet.” Ryan grinned and it turned from one of amusement to one of intense aggression.

 

  Ryan pressed the blade down.

 

  But there was nothing but air beneath it.

 

  Ryan blinked and straightened, absolutely stunned.

 

  Gavin was gone.

 

  He looked around frantically, and seeing no sign of him he bellowed for his soldiers to fan out and search.

 

  Intense fury grew within Ryan as he realised that Gavin had been teleported away.

 

  Maybe Geoff was somewhere nearby. That sliver of hope had Ryan leap and launch himself skyward. Suspending himself a good eighty feet in the air, he scanned for any sign of Gavin.

 

  While his eyes searched, his magic spread outwards saturating the ground and filling the air. He found every last living thing from him all the way to the horizon, but still there was no Gavin.

 

  Ryan’s fists clenched. A gale began to grow in strength around him. The sky darkened as the wind increased in ferocity.

 

  Gavin was gone.

 

  And it was his own damn fault. If he hadn’t spent so much time gloating and savouring victory, he would have had him.

 

  A raindrop hit Ryan on the nose and forced him to take notice of what was happening around him.

 

  In his seething rage he had summoned the beginnings of a monstrous storm. Beneath him both soldier and villager alike were fleeing for shelter as the wind whipped up dirt, grass, and stone.

 

  Ryan closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to calm down, or he would destroy the whole village.

 

  A second breath.

 

  Inhale.

 

 Hold.

 

 Exhale.

 

  Inhale.

 

  Hold.

 

  Exhale.

 

  The wind began to calm, and Ryan opened his eyes as he gently returned himself to the ground.

 

  He had found Gavin once, that meant he would find him again.

 

  Ryan smiled. Yes, he would find him again, and this time he would not hesitate.

 

  He could toy with Gavin all he wanted once the man was his.

 

  The wind calmed to no more than a breeze, but a light rain still fell. The sky was grey, but black no longer loomed on the horizon.

 

  He would order more soldiers to the area to search thoroughly. Chances were that Geoff and Gavin were far away, but he wasn’t going to risk missing them if they were right beneath his nose.

 

  Ryan closed his eyes again and faced the sky.

 

  The cold rain felt soothing. Calming.

 

  There was nowhere they could hide for long. He would burn the countryside if he had to.

 

  Ryan's smile grew.

 

  Seemed he now had a job for the dragon under his command.

 


End file.
